The rain is driving Nathan Radley crazy. The gloomy downpour has been falling relentlessly for nearly a week now, and it shows no sign of letting up. He stares at it morosely. The drops are even heavier than this morning. He glances up from his maths book and watches them patter loudly against the windows.
This must have been how Noah felt in the ark.
  A sudden gust of wind yowls outside, harrying the rain and making it hiss against the glass, like a creature trying to get in.
  Nathan hates the rain. Mostly because soccer practice is cancelled when it rains, which is as good as a death sentence to him. But today it’s different. Inexplicably, this implacable, ceaseless rain makes him uneasy.

  There is a crack in one of the window frames. No-one’s noticed it yet, but it’s been growing steadily for three days now. The ageing wood had given in to the damp’s pull at first light this morning and now the space is finally wide enough. A single trickle of rain, no wider than the shaft of a pencil, slides soundlessly through it, and into the class.

  Towards the front of the class a hand punctuates the air with a silent exclamation. One of the kids in glasses is complaining to the teacher that it’s gotten too dark to read properly. Nathan only half listens to the ensuing debate about the School’s Social Responsibility to be Energy Efficient in Full Support of the Government. He has no interest in kids who wear glasses, particularly if they aren’t girls. He can’t help agreeing though; he noticed the light fade ages ago. He didn’t say anything. He doesn’t speak now either. Even though the classroom feels like one of the dodgier, low-lit nightclubs, he doesn’t raise his hand, because Nathan is watching the rain.

 

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